Kapitaan Abduwali Muse...

“Yo Irish!”, perfectly executed dialogue by the very talented Abduwali Muse played by Barkhad Abdi. Barkhad is a Somali-born American national. Ironic, as the movie plays on those lines as well.

It was date night mid-week and a rarity with Abeer in his rare generous mood. I mean the kind that takes me by surprise with thoughtful little gifts and an impromptu dinner to follow. Divided treats where we tried to outdo each other to do something for one another. Off late everything seemed a bit flat with even plans being cancelled last minute. I had internalized the lividness brought on by a recent evening where I looked forward to going south side with him; which was planned and conveniently ditched for a cold beer and prawns to follow. The lividness was considered made-up for (in my mental check book)!

That’s ok. Life’s such anyways. Even a beer and signature Jai-Jawan prawns were a far cry from my days spent staring at a feeble father and catering to his recovery 24x7, always waiting for that lil spark. THIS particular evening goes in my catalogue of memories to save. We indulged. No caviar or champagne. Just a good ol’ movie, flowing food, funny conversations and a bit of naughtiness.

Captain Phillips had been on our agenda. I love Tom Hanks and had unintentionally caught nearly every flick he had worked in. There is a mundane genius to him. I am drawn to people who are walking geniuses in plain clothes and maybe a little gruffness to them. In that rough no-fuss exterior lies a bunch of molecules all similar to mine but aligned in a peculiarly brilliant manner. Nothing flashy about his role or get up and yet I was easily taken in. I guess his real skills poured in at the final minutes of the movie where a shocked and shaken Capt. Phillips is rescued, medically examined and reassured that he was safe. He stammered and struggled to express himself both physically and verbally – much like my daddy in his bedridden ICCU state. The medic comforted and interacted with him – much like the doctors and I did on a daily basis with dad. The likeness hit me hard and I tried not to let the tear glands win.

Coming to Barkhad who played the genius Somali pirate captain. I think this guy is a find. Held his own in a cast of veterans and had tremendous screen presence. He took me back to Nigeria and Benin and the surrounding African past that I had the rich privilege of experiencing and sadly leaving behind. He reminded me of the countless stories and sordid living that the ‘blacks’ were subjected to everywhere. In my explicit opinion, color is the single biggest racial discrimination and struggle that has dogged this earth since early man. And not because I am biased, but from the very beginning my kiddie eyes couldn’t escape how absolutely stunning Africans were. They just are and there is such sheen and glow in black. Which no one really sees.

However, I saw them always in tatters, wild colors, tribal surroundings and garb, destitute most times, a rare escape of laughter and that tubelight like smile – as if they would be killed if they let a grin escape. Their disheveled look never bothered me, pale nails and barely there footwear (mostly never there) also didn’t let me judge them. They were just beautiful people: misused, mistrusted, misjudged and misspoken about. They were exploited and robbed, beaten and trampled upon, screamed at and rarely ever heard. Their version of luxury was to be recognized as an individual and enjoy civil and basic rights. It never happened and most 3^rd world countries will not let that happen.

The movie depiction of a remote fishing village full of fishermen (read pirates for hire) was a near accurate 1 – dry, destitute village mostly filled with men high on amphetamine addictive khat leaves and ready to blaze and gun down anything and anyone. Desperation drives these skeletal mortals to punish, however brutally, whoever irked them at anytime. And this when they lacked clean water and food – worse still the scarcity of khat. This takes me back to Lagos, Nigeria. Sure I didn’t live with pirate-like people but I sure did witness and hear their mistreatment. Another ironically common factor being that all of them screamed, fought and shed blood and flesh (literally) for causes and people which gave them and their families no security or returns in any shape or form. No money, no food, no safety, no respite.

Then what drives them? Anger and an agenda for vengeance running in their blood stream from the moment they touched down on the red African soil? I think that being 1. That beautiful earthy and rich as hell soil and ground. So many treasures. So many pirates. So little hope. I hope I’m wrong.

Eu amo a África!

Retro DateNight

The weekend was just like many in the last 2 months. Dreamy and beautiful. Perfect even sometimes. Not always but sometimes near perfection. This Saturday in particular felt retro to me. Old fashioned. Simple. Simpler. Relaxed and didn’t have many quips from my otherwise quick witted other half.

Spent the day at home trying to avoid getting baked in the October humidity and sweltering heat. A plan to go shopping with a friend went expectedly kaput; I had my contingency ready – I was gonna go by myself. Abeer had drunk himself a bar the night before and getting any response from him was like asking a semi-conscious person their entire biodata. I informed him duly like I always do and set out. I was content but frankly not ideal. You see I get excited about anything that works my senses and that moment I feel like I need to share it with someone. Not just anyone – that someone. And his absence only either overworks my memory or I go into a ‘never mind’ mode.

So I picked him up from his abode and we waded through Navaratri traffic and chaos to the station. Train rides had become our thing – only this day we broke protocol from the usual meeting point (keeping it fresh). A short ride to Khar and we hit my favorite stores there. I shopped 80’s disco clothes (short tank with skull designs to go over black jeggings and a tunic or vest). All I was missing was a dirty blonde crop and some Madonna makeup and headgear. Ballet flats were at home. Abeer had a brief stint of sky blue shorts under Fanta orange t-shirt. We all exclaimed how ‘pretty’ he looked following which he promptly dumped it all and stepped outside the store like the ‘complete man’.

We decided to treat ourselves to some old-fashioned apple pie, some good ‘ol coffee and topped it up with a cab ride to town. That’s right a cab ride for us was a big deal. Abeer is big on saving and economical spending. Me – I’m just officially poor who likes to spoil her boyfriend silly. For us the cab ride was the fancy thing just like our parents thought cabs were a treat. We whizzed through the Bandra-Worli Sealink alongside Mercs, Audis, BMWs and what not. Enter. Finally. Heera Panna shopping arcade. A 1-stop-shop for many things fancy and ‘export-worthy’. The fancier chorr bazaar I call it. 1^st copies of nearly all products to near perfection that you could fool a few untrained naked eyes. I loved walking through the arcade that had me lost so many times in the past. But I gripped on Abeer like I did mom when I was younger. He was my bargaining chip and my ‘NO’ sign when it really was a ‘No’. I needed his fashionista-le-French opinion on my new retro frames and cell phone accessories. We did the rounds and the ho-hums and left.

In the middle of it all, his appetite changed from mmmm to “I wanna be light and healthy” and finally resting on the real thing, “I feel like Chinese”. His thought process was like the roulette wheel. It keeps bouncing off ideas until it rests finally on something steady and real. I wait patiently. We went to Kamling Restaurant at Churchgate. Abeer had asked me a few times in the past when we passed it after a meal at some obnoxiously pricey place. As I entered, a strong sterile almost phenyl scent hit us. Ok very very clean. I get it. But what hit harder was the team of really old, cute, ever-smiling, North Eastern staff waiting on us. I felt almost ashamed being waited on by someone so much older than me rather than offering them a seat and a warm broth. I smiled. It felt like home. Then a strong hit of flowery air freshner. Yes… very old school solution to the phenylish scent. We ordered light servings of noodles and a Chinese beef stew. BEST ever. The food was light, fragrant, so very simple and just perfect. It didn’t feel heavy or Indian-Chinese like. The plates had scratches on them and the cutlery was well maintained but well on its way out. This was like the old Chinese restaurants where our parents would take us out for ‘fancy’ dinner nights and birthdays. Nothing was over the top but it still held special place for us. It did for Abeer with old memories that brought him back here. And now me.

We ate quickly and made it to Eros. Abeer’s idea for a faaltu Hindi movie at a single-screen theatre. For both of us it meant a bratty useless evening where we decided at the time to leave our brains behind. It had been years since someone asked me ‘balcony or stall’ and that I had to pay by cash only. Old-school. I chose balcony. We were hustled in to loud, eardrum shattering introductory number accompanied by major pelvic-thrusting visuals from Besharam. Again incidentally the movie took digs at old school romance, dialogues, loud costumes and cheesy lines that had been there done that written all over them. Before interval we both laughed ourselves silly. Only cuz we knew we were there to be stupid with Besharam. But after interval and a sealed tub of pretty decent caramel popcorn, it became unbearable for Abeer to fake-laugh anymore. I didn’t regret leaving 75% into the movie either. For both of us the experience had satiated our need for silliness and now it was time to get back to reality.

Whenever possible through the day we walked. It’s what he and I did best. I always loved to walk. Still do. No matter how tired or in pain I am… I can walk. The motion of walking soothes me. Add to that a partner who does the same – sweet sublime love. We took a late Bhayander train back (the only uncomfortable part of the night for me) and made it in 1 piece to Malad.

Here was the bitter-sweet part of a retro night. Even though I would usually submit to shameless love and passion and probably kiss him anywhere anytime, he was more old-school and preferred a safe peck on the cheek in front of a plethora of rickwalas – 1 who was expected to drop me safely home at 12am. I hated when I had to make do with just that peck and then go home, alone with just a sigh and some smiles to remember the love that seeped through the evening!